Chapter Four #2
Henry was disappointed; he knew that Alexander had spent some time at Hyssington Castle because when he returned three days ago, it was with a small army of men that Henry had loaned Jasper. He frowned.
“So de Lara gets all of your stories and I get nothing?” he asked, looking at his wife. “Do you hear your son? I am to get nothing.”
Elreda shushed him. “Will you at least tell us of your journey, Alexander?” she asked. “Did you see many new and great things on your travels?”
Alexander looked at his mother, mouth full.
“Great and new things in France?” he said.
“Preposterous. There is nothing new and great in France other than the terrible death that swept it a few years ago seems to have gone away. So many dead has left the entire country a mass graveyard. When you do come across people these days, they hold cloths in front of their faces still, warding off whatever disease they think others may carry. France is not a pleasant place to visit these days.”
Elreda sobered at the thought but Henry spoke. “Nor is England,” he said. “We had our share of the great disease that swept the nation but the de Lohrs were fortunately spared. Will you at least tell me who rules France now? The traveling merchant told us that King Jean was captured.”
Alexander nodded as he buttered his bread.
“He was,” he replied. “He was captured along with both of his sons and a host of French nobility. It was an utter and complete victory for Edward and for the prince. If you want to know who rules France now, it is the English. The French army, and the aristocracy, is crippled. They lost nearly everyone and everything on that field at Poitiers.”
It was a summation of the results of the battle at Poitiers, which was the truth. France was crippled now as a result of that decisive battle and England was once again in charge. Henry was quite pleased to hear it.
“Then you shall not be going back to France?” he asked. “It sounds as if there is no longer a need.”
Alexander bit into his bread. “There will always be a need, Papa,” he said. “There has been a need longer than you have been alive. This is not the end, I fear, nor will it ever be, but for now it is my opinion that the situation will be quiet for a while.”
Both Henry and Elreda were pleased to hear such things from their son.
They had never liked the idea of both of their sons fighting in France for a vanity war, wars that only benefitted the monarchy and those in control.
At least, that was how they both looked at it in times when they would discuss such things.
“Quiet,” Elreda murmured, her hand draped on her husband’s arm. “Is it really true? Is it possible that you will be able to live your life peacefully and enjoy home and a family of your own?”
Alexander swallowed his bread, nearly choking. “Mama,” he said, drinking his wine to wash down the lump of bread. “Who said anything about a family of my own?”
Elreda grinned at her son. “I did,” she said.
“You are nearly thirty years of age. It is time for you to consider such things, Alexander. A wife and then children of your own. Your father could make a wonderful match for you, you know. Now that you are home, you must allow him to do this. You will command a fine bride, my son.”
Alexander frowned. “I have been home four days and already you are broaching the subject of a wife,” he said, looking at his father as he pushed his food aside, suddenly no longer hungry. “Did you put her up to this?”
Henry held up his hands as if to ward off his son’s anger.
“I did no such thing,” he said, “although you are at an age where you must consider such things. It is time for you to do your duty as the future Earl of Worcester. You owe the family an heir, Alex, and a legitimate one at that with a woman you are actually married to.”
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have only just returned home,” Alexander stressed. “Will you at least give me a few weeks before you are both trying to saddle me with a wife?”
Elreda pretended as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Your papa’s garrison commander at Bronllys Castle has a beautiful daughter,” she said.
“Her name is Anwyn de Titouan and she is nearly seventeen years old. A beautiful girl with dark hair and blue eyes. She is quite accomplished, I am told, and I should like for you to meet her. We thought mayhap to secure a contract with her for either you or Baxter, but you are the eldest, Alexander. You must marry first.”
Alexander laid his head, face-down, on the table and began softly banging his head against the tabletop as his parents began arguing over the suitability of a garrison commander’s daughter for the future earl.
It truly seemed not to matter how he felt about the situation; his parents were determined to marry him off.
Finally, he lifted his head, with his forehead skin red from where he had banged it against the table, and put up his hands.
“Please,” he roared softly, causing his parents to look at him. “I will find my own wife, or at least I will have the final approval on the woman I marry. This is not your decision to make.”
Elreda, normally a very even-tempered woman, frowned at her eldest son.
“I would be happy to agree with that statement but for the fact if left up to you, I would be in my grave before you decided to marry,” she said unhappily.
“Let me at least find you a selection of good and true women to decide upon. Let me go to my grave knowing you have a wonderful woman to take care of you.”
As Alexander geared up for an argument, the entry door of Lioncross’ enormous hall opened and a soldier entered, snow on his shoulders and on his helm from the storm outside.
The winds howled in after him as harried servants struggled to close the door and the soldier rushed straight into the hall where, already, Alexander and his parents had turned to look at the man. Henry spoke first.
“What is it?” he demanded.
The soldier’s face was pinched red from the cold outside.
“We just received a message from Ludlow Castle, my lord,” he said.
“The Welsh attacked St. Milburga’s Priory several days ago.
There is also word that they have attacked Woofferton and ransacked the town.
Ludlow asks for reinforcements against these attacks. ”
The words filled the air with instant tension but, given the seasoned nature of both Henry and Alexander, they didn’t react with panic or fear.
Henry was an excellent commander and an excellent strategist, and possessed the supreme de Lohr trait; the more critical the situation, the calmer he became.
In battle, that characteristic had served him well.
He calmly stood up from the table, as did Alexander, who was interested in the information but for different reasons than his father was.
“St. Milburga’s was attacked?” he clarified.
The soldier nodded, rubbing at his freezing nose. “Aye, my lord.”
Alexander’s expression grew serious. “Do we know the end result?” he asked. “Did they destroy the priory?”
The soldier shook his head. “I will bring the Ludlow messenger to you, my lord,” he said. “You may ask him that question, for I do not know the answer.”
Henry reached out and put a hand on his son’s arm. “Why such interest in St. Milburga’s?”
Alexander looked at his father. “Because Gates is there,” he said.
“Or, at least, he was heading there. Gates and a fifty-man escort had been directed by de Lara to go to St. Milburga’s to retrieve de Lara’s daughter, who is a ward there.
Gates and his escort traveled south with me from Hyssington but we split off at the road for Ludlow.
I continued south and he headed to Ludlow.
He has been to St. Milburga’s within the past few days which makes me very concerned that he and his escort may have run into trouble from the Welsh. ”
Henry could see what had his son so worried.
“Indeed,” he said. “Then you must go immediately to make sure he was not injured or worse, especially if they had de Lara’s daughter with them.
With the Welsh raiding all over the Marches this winter, even a fifty-man escort is not safe.
I am surprised Jasper sent so few men to collect his daughter. ”
Alexander was already on the move, deeply concerned for Gates and the trouble the man might be in.
“I am taking five hundred men with me, Father,” he said.
“I will go to Ludlow and leave off two hundred and fifty men with them, and if Gates is not at St. Milburga’s, I will continue on to Hyssington to see if he is there. ”
Henry was following him, as was the soldier, all of them heading to the hall entry. “Take more men than that,” he said. “I have almost two thousand men here with me, tucked away out of the snow and growing fat. Take more of them with you to reinforce Ludlow’s garrison.”
Alexander nodded, feeling the surge of battle once again in his veins.
He was conditioned that way. His mother spoke of living a peaceful life but the truth was that warfare and battle were the norm for knights like Alexander de Lohr.
It was what he did best, what he thrived upon, and with the possibility that Gates could be in grave danger, Alexander was determined to help him.
Therefore, before sunrise the next day in the midst of a snowstorm, Alexander and nine hundred de Lohr men departed Lioncross Abbey for Ludlow.
Later that day, however, they had their first run-in with a large group of Welsh raiders heading for Lioncross and Alexander suffered his first taste of battle in three years on English soil.
It was a nasty and short skirmish that saw ten de Lohr soldiers injured and nearly twenty Welsh either injured or killed. The Welsh were desperate, which meant they were reckless, and Alexander sent the wounded back to Lioncross with that message.
Beware the reckless raiders.
Meanwhile, Alexander pushed through and made haste for Ludlow.